[b][u][center]The Dangers of Satyrs For a-lycotonum By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b] Arisaema was a tracker, and she was a good one. To track this prey, however, she knew that she didn’t have to be. The fel-touched satyr left goo wherever it went, goo that it was likely producing from its bestial organs between its legs, and there were many ‘victims’ of its touch as she walked through the forest. The night elf shook her head, avoiding the puddles where she could and hopping over them when she could not. The closed air of the forest meant that the scent - more like the stench - of the satyr’s seed was all over the place, filling the air with a raw, musky stench that was hard for her to ignore. She waved her hand over her nose more than once, trying to banish it, and the handkerchief that she’d folded over her face did little to tune it out. But it did enough. That was the important thing. The tracker had been on the trail of this satyr for the last day or so. The local villages had sent her a representative, offering a fairly substantial reward if someone could track down the satyr and deal with it. More than a few young men and women had been taken in the last two weeks, according to contract-giver. They wanted to make sure that they didn’t lose anymore. Normally, Arisaema would have turned them down, but considering that this satyr was fel-touched… The demonic ooze would continue to corrupt anyone that it came in contact with. Twice in the last twenty-four hours, she had ended up burning down a corrupted tree, too saturated with fel-corrupted juices to be able to be restored. Even those that could be saved were marked by it, filling the air with a sexual scent and almost seeming to feed on it. Shaking her head, the night elf forced the corruption from her lungs and went deeper into the forest. Hours of walking later, she found promising signs. There were hoofprints in the earth that had yet to fade and harden. Better, they were filled with the same corruption that she had seen throughout the woods, which told her that she was close to her target. Still, she didn’t let herself get too excited. [i]If he’s smart enough to kidnap others before raping them, then he is smart enough to keep an eye out around his den.[/i] So, Arisaema continued with the same caution that she had maintained for the last day and a half, keeping low, her bow pulled free and her fingers twitching towards the arrows at her side. She’d have one shot if she spotted him first. One shot, and then he’d be upon her. She’d have to make it count. As she followed the tracks, the smell in the air grew stronger. On the one hand, she knew that meant that she was getting closer to her quarry, but on the other… On the other, it was reminding her that even she wasn’t immune to the corruption of the fel. Her breath came faster as she felt some of her juices starting to flow between her legs. The next step reminded her of the fact that she’d traded many things for her weapons, including most of her garments, her underwear among them. Most of the time, that wasn’t a problem, but with the fel arousing her as it was… She bit her lips as the leather skirt she wore ground against her bare sex, shaking her head, trying to force herself to focus. With a great deal of willpower, she just about managed it, pushing forward through the undergrowth. Ten minutes later, she found him. The night elf paused on a rock that overlooked a pit that had been converted into a den. What was once a hunter’s trap for game had been converted into the beast’s home, and more than that, its dungeon. Four villagers were lined up against the wall, their faces pressed against the dirt and rock of the pit, and their asses oozed with the same green goo that she’d been following. Some of them had eyes of green, while others merely had the green lines that streaked through the skin of those that the fel had touched, but not yet taken. The satyr - Arisaema pulled an arrow back on her bow, sighting along it as she watched the satyr with his latest victim. A human female, one that was gasping and grunting, with green lines already running from the small of her back up to the back of her neck, and down her limbs. The night elf could even see some streaking around her middle towards her breasts. [i]Kill him.[/i] That was what her training said, but there was something to the way that the satyr was rutting the woman beneath him. Something about the way that he moved, how bestial he was. The stink in the air was getting stronger, too, and she was struggling to keep focused. Her sex almost itched with need, and her breasts were suddenly feeling constrained by her leather top. [i]Kill him![/i] She pulled the arrow back a little further, hesitated - “RAAAAAAAAAAWR!” The satyr roared in true bestial fashion, plunging deep for a moment before pulling out, giving her the first glimpse of what the others here had suffered. The satyr was not overly endowed; truly, she had seen orcs that were larger than him in some of the prisons she’d visited. But there was something about the way that the satyr’s cock had been twisted, discolored from its human or elven roots. It stood forward at seven inches, the flesh a pink-red that looked more like what one would find between the legs of a dog than between the legs of a man. It stuck out of a full sheath, and beneath that - He turned to face her, yet her eyes were still on his balls. Heavy, full, looking like they could fill another dozen people even after what he had done to that woman. And the smell… The smell… Her mind went fuzzy as he spilled the rest of his seed on the earth before her, white lines of cum pointing right back at him. She slowly brought her head back up from his balls, looking him in the eyes. He smiled, curling his finger. Almost feeling like that finger had slipped into her pussy right then and there, the night elf allowed herself to be pulled off her feet by the gesture, dropping her bow and sliding into the pit. Every time that he curled that finger, she took another step, bringing herself closer and closer to him until she stood before the green-eyed monster. “Who are you, little elf?” “My name…” She groaned, gasping as he pulled her handkerchief from her face. That first breath was almost enough to take her over the edge, hands-free, her sex dripping down her legs. The ground turned soft beneath her boots. “My name...is Arisaema.” “Are you a hunter?” “A tracker...and a hunter...yes.” “Ah, you were hunting me?” She nodded. “And now you’ve found me. Do you still want to kill me?” The elf’s training said yes. Her needs, however… She looked down slowly, staring at his cock. It stood out tall and proud, begging her to grab it, to use it, to have some fun with it. She shivered, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as she tried to resist - “Take it.” The command burned through her brain like the orders of a sergeant to his troops, and she fell to her knees, her hands already on his shaft, stroking it, as she used the other to try and rub his balls. Tried, because they were so big that one hand wasn’t enough. Her nostrils flared as she took in his scent again, hot, wet, a bit sweaty, but very sexual. It was hot, too, hot and a bit sulfurous, though not enough to make her pull back. He was corrupted...and she was slowly becoming the same. Her breath came in short, quick pants, her eyes half-crossed already as she stared up at the thick shaft. Her mouth fell open as she leaned in, dragging her nose from the bottom of his sac to where the flesh joined with the sheath, in that fold where the musk was most potent. She stroked him hard as she dragged her nose along that spot, nuzzling in, huffing and puffing as she worshiped his scent. Between her legs, it was like a dam had sprung open. One breath, two, three, and she shivered, a miniature orgasm rushing over her, her juices spilling in a few squirts to the earth beneath her. Not one touch down there, and still, she’d cum. The satyr chuckled at her, rubbing her head, and she looked up to see that the green lines were already spreading over her hands. [i]Fel...corruption…[/i] It was almost enough to pull her back, but the satyr pushed her down against him again, grinding her face against his crotch, against his fur, against his beast parts. She gasped for breath, sucking in more of his scent, his musk, his need. With every breath, more of the corruption seized her, and with every groan and whimper, she breathed out more of her own independence. Eventually, when he let her pull back, she didn’t want to. She ground against him of her own free will, her hips twitching as she brought her mouth up to the tip of his cock. Opening up, she let the head slide in, looking up at him with begging eyes. The satyr had claimed her mind. Now, she begged him to claim her body. [b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]